


Great Sleeping Bear

by madziraphale



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, kinda angsty?, lots of introspection, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5725915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madziraphale/pseuds/madziraphale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Elma Cadash's presence is requested by King Alistair in Redcliffe. Naturally, she brings along her Warden love as a member of her travel party. As a surprise, Elma has their party leave a few days early, giving the two love-birds some extra time to themselves before meeting with the King. Set post-Revelations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Great Sleeping Bear

Blackwall let out a low, sleepy sound as he rolled over in bed, frowning slightly when his arm came to rest on a pile of furs and blankets instead of his lady. His senses began the slow process of starting up again, and soon, the Warden’s mind was buzzing with new information.

The space beside him was still warm, he noticed, but he figured that was from the sunlight streaming through the window rather than his little Inquisitor. He breathed in deeply, catching a slight whiff of Elma’s rosemary soaps amidst the smell of… were those eggs? And ram’s meat! A slow smile curled across Blackwall’s face. So that’s where his lady love had gotten off to.

After a few moments of lounging in peace, the Warden resigned to finally open his eyes. He was a bit pained by the brightness of the room at first, but, once he recovered his bearings, he sat up and stretched. Rising to his feet, Blackwall began the tedious endeavor of locating his clothes. Thankfully, he noticed, he and Elma had left a trail leading in from the cabin’s front room. He let out a low chuckle at his Inquisitor’s tunic, which lay perched on the high back of the large rocking chair in the corner of the room.

Finding his trousers proved easier than he expected, and his coat should be hanging somewhere in the sitting room, if his memory of the previous night was accurate—and he knew it _had_ to be, for not even the strongest liquor in all of Thedas could make him forget something so wonderful.

But, for the life of him, his tunic was nowhere in sight. The Warden combed his beard as well as his thoughts, idly glancing around the bedroom. When his gaze passed over his love’s tunic a second time, he froze, the small frown that had formed on his lips morphed to an amused smirk. _That little thief._

Quietly as he could, Blackwall moved to the doorway, tying his hair up as he did so. He leaned against the frame for a moment, simply admiring the view. Cadash stood near the hearth, hair unkempt, wearing nothing but his tunic, one she’d gotten for him on a trip to Val Royeaux. He’d normally have declined such a gift, especially one given without an occasion. But, after Elma had gushed at how handsome she thought he’d look in it—especially when she glanced shyly down at her feet as she mentioned how the deep wine color made his eyes pop—well, he had practically turned to putty in her hands. Said tunic had, naturally, become his favorite; however, he now discovered he much preferred it on her.

Occasionally, the Inquisitor would stoke the fire or fiddle with the food on the fryer, all the while humming to herself. It took him a moment, but the Warden recognized it as the song they’d danced to that night at the Winter Palace. He felt his heart swell. How in Thedas had he, a traitorous monster of a man, received such a gift from the Maker? The war began in his chest again. His ever-present guilt began to rattle in its cage once more, leaking out to poison the purity of the love in his heart. The soft smile that had crept onto his features faltered slightly.

It wasn’t that he was unused to the guilt—far from it, actually. He had been a walking corpse for years, carried through life by only the obligation to atone for his crimes and cowardice. That guilt had been all that kept him alive. Now, it was different. _He_ was different. All the purity and courage and heroism he’d faked through the years suddenly felt all too real. And he had no one to thank but her.

Day after day, he felt the need to prove to her that he was the man—the Warden—she believed him to be. He wished for nothing but her happiness, to see her smile and joke and tell tales of her days in the Carta around the table at the tavern in Skyhold. That day after Haven, when they’d found her half buried in snow, limping back to fulfill her promise and protect the people of Thedas, well. Blackwall didn’t know he could feel that way about another being again.

He hadn’t meant to fall in love. Things so bright and wonderful weren’t meant for the likes of him. He fought back his feelings like a Warden would a hoard of darkspawn, but, he figured, he was never really a Warden. And this woman—this dwarf—made him feel whole again. Like he could have a life outside of his quest for redemption; something just a smidge…selfish. But how could something so pure ever be selfish?

Silence pulled Blackwall from his thoughts rather than sound. It seemed he was “brooding too loud”—a phrase coined by Sera—and his little Inquisitor had ceased her humming and turned to face him. The smile she wore drove any dark thoughts and feelings back to the places from whence they came. Whatever look he’d been wearing—Varric had once told him that his “resting brooding face” would make an excellent cover for his next crime drama, while Dorian had insisted his portrait could be used as a legend to scare naughty children—morphed into an easy smile.

“Good morning, my great sleeping bear,” Elma said, “I hope you’re hungry. Breakfast is almost ready.” The Warden puffed his chest a bit when he noticed his love’s gaze linger on his shirtless chest before she turned back to the hearth. As deftly as if she’d been doing it for years, the silver-haired dwarf doled out equal servings of both meat and eggs onto the two plates she’d set on the nearby table.

Slowly and deliberately—much like the creature he’d been nicknamed for—Blackwall stalked towards his lady, a cheeky grin on his features. As soon as she’d secured the pan on its hook by the fireside, the Warden lunged downward, wrapping his arms around Elma and lifting her into the air. The squeal and giggle she released brought out a laugh of his own.

“It’s going to take more than some fried eggs and meat to satisfy me!” he growled playfully, “I am, after all, a very hungry bear.” He twirled the two of them around a few times, reveling in the sound of her laughter and pretend calls of “oh help!” and “save me from this beast!” before setting the Inquisitor to stand atop one of the chairs at the table.

As much as he loved her short stature, Blackwall had a weakness for the moments when he and Elma could see eye to eye. He could get a clear look at the joy dancing in her deep blue eyes, the rosy tint of her cheeks as she caught her breath. She was captivating, and he found himself falling in love all over again.

“Is there any hero that can save me from this great and terrible creature?” Cadash asked, her voice nearing a whisper as she gazed adoringly into her Warden’s eyes.

“Well,” he responded, his own voice low and full of warmth, “there’s an ancient legend about that bear…or so I’ve been told.” Her raised eyebrow was the only response he needed.

“They say that the bear used to be a warrior, and long ago, the warrior was cursed by the Maker himself for a terrible, terrible crime he committed.” The smile on his love’s face fell slightly, and a soft feeling bloomed in his chest at her worry. “But,” he continued, “It is also said that the curse can be broken by the kiss of a beautiful maiden. One who can see past the bear’s menacing claws and scruffy fur--even past the dark deeds from his time as a man—and still love him through it all. She must be—“

The Warden’s story was cut short when Elma’s lips crashed to his, both of her arms wrapping around his neck and her marked hand moving into his hair. Blackwall overcame his surprise quickly and responded eagerly, his own hands moving to her waist as he wrapped his arms around her once more. They parted only when the need to breathe overwhelmed them, and they rested their foreheads together in a moment of silence, simply gazing at one another.

“Thom?” it was Elma that broke the spell of silence, “I think our breakfast is cold, my love.”

 _Thom_. Oh Maker above, how could she make a name so vile he alone had barely been able to _think_ it sound like it held all beauty and goodness in Thedas? And even go so far as to equate it with the words “my love?”

Thom Rainier sent a prayer of thanks to Andraste, something he’d been doing a lot lately. But, he thought, when a man was as blessed as he, not even an entire day spent in prayer would be enough thanks for the gift of his lady.

“Well then,” he said, brushing a thumb across Elma’s cheek, “let’s see if that mark of yours really _can_ cook eggs. Or at least warm them up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this little diddy of mine. I hope you enjoyed it; it is my first DA fic, after all. But, so far, I absolutely adore the franchise and the characters (especially Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody himself, obviously), so I knew a story must be written involving my sweet-as-pie Inquisitor as well.
> 
> Comments are always welcome and much appreciated!


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